


Routine

by BWaves



Series: Infirmity [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Autism, Humanstuck, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Neurological Disorders, POV Male Character, POV Second Person, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWaves/pseuds/BWaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius comes home to find a strange guy on his couch, talking to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked you:  
> Hey there, I was wondering if I could request some Gamzee/Equius with a schizophrenic Gamzee and autistic Equius?

You weren't entirely sure how to react to the situation you walked into. It isn't often that one walks into their apartment to find a stranger sitting upon their couch, clutching his head and cursing loudly between muttered breaths of “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.”

You had a number of questions but before approaching him you gave them a moment to sort themselves out. The first and foremost being “How did you get into my apartment?”

His head snaps up then, there's some kind of paint smeared across his face, wide eyes and twitching jaw slowly seeming to relax as you stand there. He lifts a shaking hand and points to the window, which was left open a few inches this morning, because you hadn't suspected someone would climb up to the third floor just to pry open your window, sit on your couch and have a psychotic episode. “Left it open. Thought you were... All up and invitin' me in.”

His accent, you note, is odd. It doesn't seem to be from around here, much less anywhere in the country. You push that question to the back. You take this moment to examine his face, a hard task with the smeared gray and white, but his stature, his movement, his voice, they all read teenager. Sixteen perhaps? Seventeen?

You wonder if you should ask.

You're snapped from your thoughts by him, screaming at nothing. “Shut your fucking mouth!” He snaps and at first you believe it is directed at you, but shortly realize it is not. You don't know who or what he's yelling at.

This is all very odd and you don't know how to handle the situation.

You decide you'll call a friend and see what she can do about it.

Now, you'd never been good with reading people, based on their body language, or the tone of their voice, so you were never able to fully grasp that she was never very fond of you, she put up with you due to your parents' friendship. Beyond that you were a mere pain in her neck.

But you always saw her as your friend, as your best fried, simply because she never left, or told you to get lost. You would spend two hours at her home every Saturday and not once has she forced you to break this routine. She knows how much you love the routine.

In fact this guy being here is throwing you off, normally you'd be the one on that couch and you'd be watching the latest episode of your favorite television show right now.

So you call her, explain that there is a strange young man on your couch and he's yelling at nothing, she says she'll be over shortly, and you're left alone with this stranger once more.

You watch him, his eyes are darting around the room, not really looking at anything but extremely focused and seeming to get angrier and angrier as they flit about.

“Stop fucking moving, Jesus H. Christ, do I have to pin you down or something!?” He yells once more.

You imagine it's going to feel like a long time between now and when Nepeta arrives.

“What are you yelling at?” You end up asking as he reaches for the lamp on the table next to your couch.

It seems to snap him out of his staring and his eyes turn to you.

His mouth hangs open for a moment and he looks between you and the empty air in the living room, before his mouth snaps shut with a clicking of his teeth and he pulls his hand away from the lamp that was almost a victim of his hallucinations.

“It's... It's my best friend.” He finally says. “He's kind of a motherfucking dick half the time.” Oh. So he's just straight up nuts, you decide. “He's on their side, he doesn't want me to be here.” He finally grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child.

You find yourself nodding a little bit before you approach the couch, pointing to the empty cushion next to him and asking if you can sit as well. He says that you can and you take the spot next to him, turning on the television and pulling up the recording of the show you were going to watch., You always have them set to record.

You start it from the beginning and watch in silence for a few minutes before pausing and looking at him.

“Who are they?” You ask.

“Who are who?” is his response.

You decide to let it go.

You're halfway through the show by the time Nepeta shows up and she walks through the door and stands there looking at you as you enjoy your program. She opens her mouth to talk a number of times before closing the distance, shooing you off to your room and telling you you'll be able to watch the show later.

She insists she's going to have a nice chat with your new friend, and that if all goes well this will all be sorted out.

You did as she told you, you went to your room, and sat on your bed, staring at the door and waiting patiently for her to come and get you.

You're not quite sure how long you sat there, but eventually she came and opened your door. She sat quietly on the bed next to you, her hand reaching for your shoulder, and stopping as you lurched away from it. She withdrew and folded them on her lap, beginning her explanation.

She told you his name was Gamzee. He was schizophrenic, he came here because he didn't want people to see him and try to talk to him. He seemed to have decided that the worst case scenario for coming in here was having to talk to one or two people.

She told you that he was very happy you didn't try to talk to him.

That made you feel pretty good.

You asked her if she had asked about who 'they' were and she seemed confused for a moment before realizing and nodding.

She tells you he refers to them as the messiahs.

You are curious, but don't ask further. You ask if you can go back to watching your show.

She explains that Gamzee doesn't want to leave.

You find that you don't mind. Aside from the random yelling he seems likeable.

You tell her this, she gets upset.

“Equius.” She chides. “He has a problem. We need to take him home. He's not a stray cat you can lay claim to simply because he is in your apartment.”

You understand and tell her that she has to take you with. She sighs, but agrees, standing and motioning for you to follow.

In the living room Gamzee is still on the couch, quiet now, as opposed to before.

Nepeta explains that you have to take him home and he agrees rather wordlessly.

You're sitting in the passenger seat of her car with Gamzee behind you. You can feel him staring at you as he feeds Nepeta the directions and it's very sudden when you feel fingers in your hair, very light touches threading through before he makes contact with that back of your neck.

You jerk away from him, much more violently than intended, and scare the bejesus out of Nepeta, whose fingers tighten severely and she hisses “What the Hell?” At you and you look over your shoulder to see if his hand is still there before sitting up straight again.

You apologize to her and look back at him again. He's staring at you still, this time he looks confused.

He gives you his phone number and now that you've been here you know his address. His father, or at least you think it's his father, comes storming out, grabbing him harshly by the back of his neck and dragging him back inside.

As they go inside, Nepeta is about to drive away when another young man pokes his head out, heading toward you and tapping gingerly on Nepeta's window. She rolls it down and he makes a gesture that you don't understand but Nepeta smiles and says “You're welcome.” Before he leaves and you're on your way out.

She tells you not to call him.

You decide not to listen.

 

It takes you a month to learn when you can and cannot call him. You manage to squeeze in talking to him between television and dinner.

Once you two have established a time; you talk to him every day, getting to a point where the phone barely has time to ring before he's answering.

You mostly just ask him how he is and he tells you and then he asks how you are and you tell him and then you sit in silence for twenty minutes, but don't hang up. He doesn't break the silence and neither do you.

Within the next year he is on medicine and he relaxes a lot, he doesn't really talk about the messiahs the few times you two see each other in public.

You notice that he shows up on grocery days every week and realize he's learning your schedule and using the knowledge to his advantage and you realize after a few weeks that you're okay with it. You come to enjoy his company during the time you spend getting food and other things for yourself.

You get used to it, slowly, but one day he doesn't show. You sit on the bench at the front of the store, where he normally sits, and wait.

You wait for an hour before giving up and doing the grocery shopping alone.

On your way out he's there, on the bench, hugging his knees and shaking. You say hello to him and he greets you, standing and hurrying to your side, and grabbing onto your arm despite how hard you try to avoid it. You freeze up for a second after his fingers are wrapped around your forearm, but after a moment you feel yourself relax. It's nice.

You had so harshly avoided him touching you. But it's very nice.

He walks with you to your car, he asks if he can go to your place. You know you should say no. You are fully aware that this is a bad idea in some way, but you agree to let him.

He helps you load the groceries and then he sits quietly in the passenger's seat, pulling on his seat-belt, locking it, and holding onto it so tight the blood drains from his knuckles.

Something is wrong, you manage to figure out as he has what looks like a panic attack as you start driving. You end up pulling over and asking if he's okay and he insists that “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, shit just keep going I have to- I can't- Fucking, AGH FUCK!”

Something is definitely wrong, but you don't ask, you simply start driving again, when you get to the apartment you look up and see the window is open again.

When you turn to him to ask he's already out of the car and running up the steps.

You are slower, gathering a few fistfuls of grocery bag handles and trudging up the steps. He's standing at the door, and once you get within range he shoves a hand into your pocket, pulling out the apartment key and unlocking the door for you.

Inside you note there are things that weren't there this morning. He tells you he really wanted to live here and that he figured you didn't mind.

You weren't sure what to make of it, and as you looked over you saw that very few things were new. You put the groceries away and ask him if his dad was okay with this. He becomes very tight lipped, but eventually a yes comes to you.

You suppose you don't see anything wrong with it so long as it's okay with his father, and you explain to him that he will have to chip in to pay for food, and you tell him that you've been paying the rent by yourself for a while and he doesn't have to worry about it.

He thanks you and hugs you and you find yourself hugging back.

At dinner that night you finally ask about his age. He turns out to be twenty-four and an entire year older than you. It surprises you but you simply nod and go on eating.

He asks if he can sleep in your bed with you that night, and despite the intense puppy-dog-eyes you manage to shake your head and tell him to sleep on the couch.

He sleeps on the couch for a week, and every morning when you wake up he's curled up in the empty space next to you. Not touching you, but still there. You decide that it'll be easier for everyone if he just slept in there.

At first you slept on the couch and let him sleep in your bed, but you'd still wake up with him nearby, on the floor for example.

Finally you caved. You let him sleep in your bed at the same time as you and he promised not to touch you because he knew how much you disliked being touched.

It took a while, but slowly him living with you became normal. You stopped feeling the slightest itch under your skin when you were about to do something you normally would do and having to alter the plan slightly to fit him in between or include him all together.

He insisted on going many places with you, and he followed like a dutiful puppy dog. He especially liked going to the gym with you, he said he liked giving death stares to the people that stared at you.

That one you weren't sure how to feel about it.

A year passed of him living with you, and you grew accustomed to him being so near by all the time. You got more comfortable with him touching you, typically small things, such as poking your shoulder or arm to get your attention, or playing with your hair when he got into the mood. He continued to take his medication and he seemed like a perfectly stable individual. He started trying to cuddle up to you while watching TV. The first time you were the guilty party, turning in surprise with little control over your startled actions and bruising his arm with a hand. You apologized profusely and he told you “It's all good, bro, no need to all up and flip your head over it.”

The next time you were able to contain your reaction to a small flinch, and he only held for a moment before releasing.

He progressively held on longer, until finally one day he leaned onto your side and you didn't flinch, you merely set an arm carefully over his shoulders and let him lean onto you.

He did that kind of stuff a lot, he liked to test your boundaries and push past them when he could. The cuddling thing was the hardest to get used to, but over time it became routine to watch television with his scrawny body curled into your side and sometimes he'd fall asleep and you found it somewhat endearing.

There were times when he wouldn't take his medicine. You could always tell because he became significantly less affectionate and he would not sit next to you when you watched television.

These days he pointedly ignored you, even giving you glances that caused you fear.

He'd mumble to no one in particular and he'd talk about the messiahs by himself in your room. It was worrying and on those days he refused to take his medicine. You had to sit it out, keep an eye on him and watch out for when he decided to be violent. He wasn't exceptionally hard to hold back or anything but you constantly worried you'd hurt him.

You found that you cared about him, in a way you hadn't really cared about anyone before.

Sure you cared about Nepeta. But she was like a sister to you. You found you really liked Gamzee.

Like. Really liked Gamzee.

You really liked when he curled into your side just watching whatever happened to be on television, you likes that he got you out of your box.

Not once has he ever asked you about why you are the way you are, though.

You tended to ask questions, about the schizophrenia.

He did comment on the things you did. You habit of wringing your hands, the fact that you space out in the middle of sentences only to pick them up anywhere from fifteen minutes to three days later, the fact that he can call your name some handful of times but you never respond.

He never asked why you did these things though, and part of you kind of wants him to. You're not sure why.

You want him to know things about you and ask you questions, you want him to know why.

You know a lot about him. You know why he talks to himself, you've seen the things he scribbles onto paper with colored pencils, insisting he sees them and that they're real. The things he sees are terrifying. The random things he says that make no sense. You know about these things. You like knowing.

You won't make him ask. You can't bring yourself to tell him he can ask, or straight up tell him to ask, it feels like ordering around a superior and you don't like doing that.

It's while you're sitting at the table and eating dinner that he finally asks anything about it. Sure all it is is “Why do you eat your food like that?” And you hadn't really realized you ate the way you did, one thing at a time, counter clockwise, starting with the top left thing on the plate, depending on the dish.

You stare at the food for a minute before shrugging. “I'm. Not sure.” You answer, and look up at him and he's staring at you.

“There's got to be some reason.” He responds and you feel yourself prickle.

Okay, maybe you didn't want him to ask. “I think it may be a... I think it may be a part of the Autism.” You say and his expression fades.

“Huh.” He nods a little, continuing to poke food around the plate. “I was here up and thinking you were just quirky.” He says and chuckles quietly, shoveling some food into his mouth.

Not the reaction you were expecting.

But. You like that he didn't poke fun at you for it. You don't know why you thought he would. But he didn't.

 

Some months later you came home from Nepeta's house to music, Gamzee standing in the living room, spinning around in circles and you figure he'd call it dancing. You walk in and it takes him a moment to see you, but when he does he motions for you to come toward him. He stops the spinning and just faces you, grabby hands and you take a few steps closer.

He grabs onto your hands and just holds them, this weird smile on his face.

Something's up, you decide right away, but he tugs on you and insists you kill time with him by spinning around in circles like a lunatic, his words, not yours.

You ask what he's killing time for.

He says he wants to ask you something but hasn't gotten the nerve to ask yet, so he's killing time until he's got the guts. You don't push him, and he manages to pull you around with him until you're dizzy and have to sit down to keep from losing your lunch.

He sits on the floor in front of you, as you hold your head steady and staring up at you, with the biggest green eyes you've ever seen.

You weren't sure what to make of him anymore.

“I'm really into you, dude.” He finally says, very calmly. “Kinda have been but never been sure about you, brother.” He smiles a toothy smile at you.

You're not sure how to respond. You find yourself staring at him, long enough that his smile fades and he starts to look a little worried. You can't formulate an answer for him, though and just continue to stare.

One of his hands lands on your knee and you tense, but don't flinch away. He begins like he's going to apologize but you shake your head, telling him not to. You tell him no one's ever liked you like that before and you're not entirely sure the protocol.

He then tries to explain how people normally react when he tells them that, then how he would like you to react, and then how he thinks you'll react and then goes on about how if you react the way he really hopes you won't react all of his stuff will fit in two boxes and he can skip town and never face you again.

You realize he must have been thinking about this a lot.

You tell him you're not sure. You don't know. You don't get why he would like you at all.

He once more informs you all of his stuff fits in a couple boxes, and then quickly waves his hands in front of him, tells you you have as much time as you need to figure it out, he won't push you into making a decision or forming an opinion and then he scurries off, locks himself into your room.

He leaves you alone during that time, and while you sit alone on the couch you hear him in the other room, he keeps going between mumbling and yelling at nothing or himself or the messiahs or whatever it is he is yelling at.

You just sit there and let it all sink in. You weigh the pros and cons, you consider how horrible it could go, you try to think of the best possible scenario, it's all just so weird. This strange guy who climbed into your apartment window two years ago was interested in you. Interested relationship-wise.

You don't know what you're supposed to say to him.

Three days go on like normal. You keep up your routine, but you spend a lot of time thinking about the situation and the intensely confusing crush your roommate apparently has on you. You don't know what to do about that, you feel like it's not a good idea, mostly for him, why would he want to be with you?

You ask him if he's sure about it, about feeling like that at all towards you. You happen to catch him on a day where he's refused to take his medication and he promptly calls you a dirty motherfucker and tells you to get the fuck out of his face and you do just that, hiding yourself in your room as he rages in the living room, yelling at the voices or the hallucinations or whatever he sees.

He's always angry when he forgets to take the medicine and all you can do most of the time is wait. He'll eventually crash and in the morning you'll wake him early, give him his medicine when he's too tired to fight.

He'll go some weeks taking it every morning on his own but ever month or so he decides he's not taking it and you do your job of waking him early and what not.

You wait a couple more days, and ask again. He says yes and you nod in understanding.

“I believe I may reciprocate.” You mumble after a few minutes and he sits up a bit from where's he's sitting on the couch.

The number of times you answer yes to the question “Are you motherfucking sure, bro?” is in the double digits but eventually he says he won't ask again, and he hugs you tightly and apologizes a number of times when you give him a slight push to detach him.

He ends up clutching your side like usual for a while.

Things don't change much, you keep up your normal routine, every week is very much the same, things are fine to you. He becomes significantly more affectionate, though, and you're okay with it.

He tries kissing you once, after a week. You jerk away, mostly on instinct from your issues with touching, but you manage to get yourself leaning over to reciprocate after the disappointed look on his face.

You're not sure how it'll work between the two of you. You could hardly ever tell what he was feelings, you were so bad at reading emotions. You tell him this and he says that he'll be sure to tell you and you're still not sure what to expect in the future. But you suppose you'll find out.

You have known each other for almost three years and he has not once told you to piss off. He hasn't told you he hated you. You hope it works out. You quite like him.

**Author's Note:**

> Request things or what have you at hsinfirmity.tumblr.com


End file.
